


Shadow of Aid

by chibimono



Series: Little thing of fics [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cat shape-shifter, Gen, Help from an unlikely source, Injured Character, Reaperbean - Freeform, crow shape-shifter, shape-shifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 19:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibimono/pseuds/chibimono
Summary: Reaper seems to have a little companion that has taken an interest in Soldier: 76.





	Shadow of Aid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsheRhyder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsheRhyder/gifts).



> This was an experiment in 1) writing a fic thread on Twitter, and 2) just... writing something different. I actually like writing about animals and always wanted to try my hand at some Reaperbean stuff... so, here’s a combination of that. *gabeshrug*  
> Not sure if this is something I’ll continue, but I never really know what inspiration will hit. Comments and constructive criticisms are always welcome.

The bullets didn’t manage to pierce his armor, but the impact of the storm fired on him has definitely let him with intense bruising and a few broke ribs. He knows hiding in an alleyway isn’t his safest bet; there’s two directions to watch for, making it poorly defensible in his current state. He just needs to catch his breath, get his body to move past the pain and hope he doesn’t puncture a lung.

He’s huddled between a dumpster and stoop, his shallow, wheezing breaths painfully loud in the darkness. He tells himself just a few more minutes, he’ll pick a direction and crawl if he has to, but just a few more minutes.

He doesn’t quite startle, but he does draw back defensively, hiding his wounded side, as something approaches. It’s small and dark, a shadow on four light feet, and despite a few steps of hesitance, it comes right for Jack. He thinks it will attack, but it stops just outside of Jack’s hiding spot, where the faint alley lighting exposes it.

A black cat, with white skull like markings on its face. It’s sleek and graceful, sitting just out of reach. It watches Jack with eyes that, instead of yellow or green, glow eerie red with reflected light.

“M’sorry... I don’t have food,” Jack grumbles, words slurring with pain. The cat just flicks it’s tail in response, but makes no other move. Not that he wants a witness to him slowly asphyxiating, Jack can’t do much about the animal. He doesn’t have the energy, the breath, to waste on chasing it off. As it is, he's getting claustrophobic with the stale, hot air in his mask and detaches the face guard to choke on the humid, garbage-sour breeze lazily drifting through the alley. He clutches his ribs as he coughs and sucks in ragged breaths.

The cat moves toward him cautiously, a hesitant paw reaching out for his leg. Jack wishes the damn thing would just go away, but he doesn’t bother shooing it off, gets the feeling that it would just come back. He’s groaning weakly with the pain, panting for air, as this animal bravely climbs onto him, right into Jack’s lap.

It purrs, the sound of it hallowed and warped, as it tries leaning up into Jack’s face. He can only turn his head from it, any other motion would take too much energy at this point, but it still tries getting its little wet nose as close to his face as it can.

If the red eyes and the skull markings on its face weren’t a giveaway that this cat was unusual, the smoke that began pouring off of it definitely proved it. Jack snatches up his faceplate and tries to fit it back into place, the sharp movement making him gasp and grunt in agony, but he’s already inhaled a breath of the dusty, heavy miasma, can feel it burning its way down his throat into his lungs. Jack shoves at the thing, but his hands just passes through it, it’s body all dark vapor.

A wraith, just like the Reaper.

Jack curses the fake cat on a wheeze, feeling the burn now in his ribs. It’s sharp and clawing, enough to make him want to vomit. If he keeps the mask on, he might choke on his own sick if he blacks out, but if he takes it off he’ll be exposed to more of the fumes. Well, at least one way his death will be quick...

He removes the faceplate again, gags on the thick cloud darkening around him. He feels lightheaded from the pain and lack of oxygen, coughs and gasps weakly as he sumps against the brickwall behind him. The shadow cat purrs for him, hauntingly soothing, as if it were trying to offer him calm as it took his life. Jack was oddly reminded of an old wives tale about cats stealing the breath of babies, thinking he is too old for this.

The pain in his ribs peaks, and for a moment, just a moment, Jack thinks he loses consciousness. He’s dazed, his thoughts slipping away like he’s been drugged, and the world greys at the edges. The pain lessens, fades into a comfortable burn that spreads from his chest out, to other places that hurt. The cutting, searing pain picks up there, too, leaving Jack gasping and whining, writhing with it.

He can’t defend himself like this, hopes that he won’t be found, won’t be heard crying in his misery. He’s trembling and lethargic, sprawled in alleyway refuge when the last of it passes, the vapor leaving him like cigarette smoke with a few exhales. The cat finally reforms from his wraith form, sleek and solid by his head, where it nuzzles gently against Jack’s visor.

He’s healed. Better than any biotic emitter, his body is repaired.

“I don’t know what you did, but... thank you,” Jack rasps. He gets a rough little lick of his chin in reply.

The cat gets comfortable with him, or as comfortable as it could in the filthy alley, hunkering down in a loaf-shape at Jack’s side. It closes its red eyes and begins its haunting purr, but it only lasts for a moment. Its ears perk up and its head darts around, looking for something. Its quick and silent as it leaps to its paws, dashing off into open view.

There’s a rushing sound, a swirling of darkness that coalesces into leather, Kevlar, and metal. Guns at the ready, the Reaper appears, looking over the alley with a slow, menacing turn of his head.

“Where are you?” he growls, and Jack thinks the question is for him. He won’t answer, won’t draw any attention to himself if he can help it.

It’s the cat that seems to answer the Reaper. From what he can see around the dumpster, the cat runs at the Reaper, its form shifting into swirling mist mid-leap, solidifying into a crow. It comes to land on the Reaper’s shoulder, cocking its head in question, red eyes glowing from the skull-like white markings over its head.

“Did you find him?” the Reaper demands, looking to the shape-shifting creature. There are no eyes to speak of behind that bone mask, but Jack can feel the scowl, knows it in his gut to be there.

The cat-turned-crow shakes out it’s dark feathery wings, shakes its head; no.

The Reaper makes a disgusted noise, turning away with a sweep of leather and smoke. “What good are you? I want eyes on. Go.”

The shadow crow flutters and takes flight, leaving the alley in a burst of speed. The Reaper looks around one last time, Jack staying as still as he can to avoid attention, before dissolving into a dark miasma and slipping away.

Jack waits in his hiding place for an hour, gaining back his strength and hoping the Reaper won’t double back to look in the alley again. The cat or crow don’t return, and Jack thinks that’s maybe for the best. He’s not sure why something just like the Reaper felt the need to heal him. Or not give him away.

Jack wonders if there’s a snack of some kind that all animals would eat. He might have to start carrying some as a thank you. Just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on Twitter @chibimonoakuno  
> And tumblr as @littlethingofevil (personal, mostly all reblogs) and @badsleeptwins (Overwatch fic and art, shared with my crewmate Ashe Rhyder)


End file.
